Harry Potter and the Wary Sneak
by einarinn
Summary: Harry, getting ready to head back to Hogwarts for his 5th year, hasn't even begun to cope with the loss of Sirius. He isn't ready to accept that people might understand. When he feels he can't trust anyone, where might he find unwilling empathy?


Hey, this is my first fanfic. Been reading for ages, but never trusted my writing. Well, I just felt like reading a really long Harry Potter fanfic, cuz I've almost memorized the books, but they're waaay too many authors to check through. Heh, so I'm making my own. Please bear with me on this. So, without further ado I give you...

Harry Potter and the Wary Sneak

Chapter One:

The Last Summer

It was a beautiful day, the sort that everyone ought to be outside upon. But that didn't matter to a young man on Privet Drive. Harry Potter wasn't a young man anymore, though; much as his appearance suggested. Any who looked into his eyes could see his mind had aged too many years in such a short lifetime. Enough that he felt he couldn't bear it anymore. He went through all of it, and how was he treated? Dumped back on his aunt and uncles doorstep. At least he knew why now, but that didn't make it any easier to cope with.

And Harry was having trouble coping with a lot of things right now. His aunt, uncle and cousin knew nothing of what had happened last month; actually, they knew little about any of the things that happened to him while he was away at school or at the Order headquarters at Grimmauld Place. Not that they cared; it mattered little whether he was alive or dead to them, as he was often told.

Even his best friends Ron and Hermione, who knew what had happened, had been there when...no, he wouldn't remember...he couldn't. The two people he thought he could count on to help, they acted as though it never happened. That Sirius being...not gone, but lost, didn't matter. As if ignoring it all would help them get over it. Harry reached over his bed, where he had been sprawled, and grabbed the lamp, chucking it out the window.

Wasn't that what he was doing, though? Ignoring it all? The people who could help him, wasn't he ignoring them? The cheery letters from Ron, Hermione and Ginny...even Neville and Luna on holiday; they were all stacked under Hedwig's cage, unopened. He, Harry, was forcing all his problems on other people's shoulders.

With that, another rush of anger ran over him. Why had Sirius left? Why couldn't he have stayed, just a little while longer, just enough for him to get out of school and be a legal adult? In the wizarding community, coming of age was attained at 17. He could have started his life...and been slightly more ready to deal with everything. And everyone.

Harry sighed, why couldn't he just take it all in? Everyone else had. They were all getting on with their lives, if the continuing letters were any indication. Everything seemed normal, except for the continuing safety and protection warnings the Daily Prophet was printing about Voldemort. Yes, nothing ever seemed normal anymore, nothing could be counted on to stick around, not with Voldemort trying to kill all the muggles (non-magic folk) and muggle-borns he could lay his filthy hands on. Even pure-blood wizards who resisted. Especially wizards who resisted. Like Sirius.

Harry felt his throat contract. This time, like so many others this summer, he gave into the tears. He had dropped his dignity, his pride. He no longer cared if anyone saw or commented. Why was it him? Why did all the people who meant anything to him become targets? All because of a stupid prophecy. It could have been Neville, it never mentioned a name. They had both fit the requirements. But Voldemort had chosen him, as a baby. Changed his life, given him a future. Right now, he didn't think it was one he wanted. He was a marked man: he either killed or was killed. And so everyone who knew him suffered. Because of him. It all came back to him, and Voldemort. If he was right, now, this would be the last summer he came back to Privet Drive. If Voldemort didn't seek him out again, as he had time after time, he, Harry Potter, was going to find him. People didn't deserve such suffering.

By the time Harry opened his eyes and looked out the window, stars dotted the twilight sky. Later this week was his 16th birthday. If he had been a muggle, he might have had a big party with all his friends and dreams of a car coming soon. But he wasn't, and even by wizarding standards, he wasn't normal. So, he would have a quiet, unnoticed sweet sixteen and would continue to stare out the window, probably not noticing the change in his life. If there really was any more out there for him to kill. He was an instrument for destroying emotions. If he hadn't been, would Sirius be gone? Might he be spending the summer with Ron and Hermione at the Burrow? Would he be sitting here going over the reasons why he, an orphan, should be accepted? Who knew? All Harry knew was that, when the time came, Voldemort would pay for making so many lives a living hell. And destroying the others.


End file.
